The Huntsman from Coney Island
by LividLee
Summary: Huntsmen and Huntresses come from all sorts of colorful backgrounds. Some come from a family of Hunters, others from prestigious families, or even from the life of an orphan. Jaune comes from a family a bit more colorful than that however. Jaune's family makes it's living by being one of the most notorious gangs Remnant has ever seen. The Warriors.


**AN: Just wanted to create a fic with my favorite show with my favorite movie, so hopefully it doesn't all go to shit. If any of you know of the film **_**The Warriors **_**then this could be a treat or a disgrace, hopefully the former. This is based loosely around an alternate universe where Jaune is a gang member of the Warriors, and how that affects his dreams of being a Huntsman. Here's hoping I bring some smiles into the equation.**

**A Warrior's Depart**

It was finally happening. He, Jaune White, was finally going to live out his dream after so long staying on this island. When he got the letter of response back after one painstaking month of just _waiting, _it was simultaneously a breath of sweet relief and a near suffocating sense of anxiety. On one hand he would finally know once and for all whether or not he would be following his dreams as a Huntsman, or to give up on it and focus on the life he already had. The latter wouldn't be so bad, he just didn't want to spend the rest of his life wondering what could've been. He had a lot going for him now as it stands. He had a large and supportive family, despite their clear disdain of the profession. He had a status that no one failed to recognize and always made sure he was welcome. Hell, people even came to Jaune and his family when a Grimm invasion was imminent, even being paid for their deeds.

Yes, he knew even if this his dream of being a Huntsman was botched he would have the best family he could have hoped for waiting for him. A family that was strong, mature, and all around decent people he and everyone could look up to.

"You fucking asshole!"

…for the most part.

He could only sigh at his brother's antics. Really, they had only stopped at the post office for about two minutes, and his brother was already mugging someone? Jeez, at the very least he could've waited till he opened his letter. He turned to him, taking in the almost comical picture.

Standing almost a foot taller and visibly more ripped than himself, the older brother cut an imposing figure, even before his various tattoos and scars across his bare chest were taken into account. That's another thing his family had a bad habit about, most men lacking a shirt to go with their maroon vests and even women rarely wore a bra, though thank the Gods they all wore shirts. But back to the matter at hand.

Held in one fist was some poor sap who was unfortunate enough to be a target of his brother's favorite hobby; mugging. In the other hand lay a leather bound wallet that the shorter and much scrawnier individual was desperately attempting to reach while yelling creative obscenities, seriously, a Goliath Fuck Toy? That was new. Despite the amusing spectacle going on he really had to read the letter.

"You just about done there Brick?"

"Only need a few more seconds Jaune." He didn't even look away from his victim, finding his resistance hilarious if his amused smirk was anything to go by. His aura protecting his exposed arm from the wimpier guy's clawing motions, which was only doing more harm to himself than anything.

"Well hurry it up, we still need to attend the Warchief's meeting. You don't want to be stuck on rent collection again do you?" He certainly hated it. At first, in his earlier years of moving on from stealing car radios to rent collection he had been ecstatic to be more active into the gang. That was until however, he realized why they were so content with him doing it, rent collection sucked. Sure it was fun at first, displaying the colors on his back and watching the shop owners pale at his appearance. After the first few times however, he noticed some cons to the task. He could only get hands on if they refused to pay (which has almost never happened), he had to travel miles of walking (only certain Warriors could afford cars), and it was just plain repetitive.

His comment of the subject had its intended effect as he hoped. Brick let out a sigh of resignation, his smirk dimming.

"Alright alright, whatever you say, but first" he turned towards the still struggling young man. "I'm going to take this. You are going to sit there and behave yourself now won't you?" If that man wasn't in the same outfit he was, he would find the smugness in his voice infuriating.

"Fuck y-" He wasn't even surprised by the reverberating crack that echoed throughout the post office, even as the onlookers flinched. Most looked scared, some angry yet unwilling to do anything, all looks he'd learned to live with. You didn't last long as a Warrior if you let pity get it's hold on you.

Wallet in hand and standing over the comatose potty mouth, his brother gave him a self-satisfied smile. "Okay, now I'm done."

Turns out, they didn't have any leisure time when they arrived back at the hangout.

The hangout, at first glance, seemed more than a little worse for wear. It was a two story building that was isolated from the rest of the village/city, as it was surrounded by an entire block of deserted buildings that had once been homes or shops to the local residences. The introduction of the Warriors soon led to a mass vacancy of the immediate area.

The hangout itself was situated dead center of deteriorating buildings. It had at one point seem to be a boxing/workout building, if the punching bags, weights, and square ring on the first floor were anything to go by. The red brick made up the majority of the building with a stone foundation, though the main entrance was on the second floor, accessible from the iron stairs a few Warriors loitered about. Across the formerly blank section of the brick, next to the main doors bore the Warriors tag; a flaming skull with crimson tipped wings reaching toward the sky, the same logo every initiated Warrior wore on the back of their maroon vests.

He himself could hardly remember a time where he didn't wear his vest that lay over his solid black muscle shirt. The vest had become a part of him as much as his own two hands. He had gotten it years ago, around the age of 14 if he recalled correctly. Though he had been in the gang for as long as he could remember, a child wearing a notorious gang vest would quite literally put a target on his back. So at the age of 14, he had been officially initiated the same way every Warrior was, by getting the absolute crap kicked out of him.

He'd been told to last 5 minutes against three new bloods in the ring without crying uncle. He didn't necessarily have to beat all of them, just bare the pain of their strikes until time was up. He remembered being terrified at the trial, three aura users against one who didn't have his unlocked yet? It was only around that point in his life did he realize why the Warriors were _The Warriors, _they only accepted the best of the best. If he wanted to roll with them, he'd have to prove he was worthy enough to wear their colors. So when the bell sounded, he didn't hesitate to charge at the closest new blood head on. By the end of it, he was covered in bruises, splattered in blood, sporting a split lip, and barely managing to stand up. Despite his state, the vest clutched in his hands and raised in the air was all he needed to still wear a smile.

Much like the smile he wore now, anxious to retreat to his room and tear open his letter. However, as he ascended the steps the ominous bell behind the building rang out prominently, causing every nearby Warrior to cease their conversations and turn in the direction of its source. He could only sigh, he'd forgotten. The meeting had been called.

He'd have to read it afterwards. Stuffing the paper into his jean pocket, he walked behind the building like every other Warrior was to assemble in the abandoned amphitheater. It was large enough to accompany the two hundred something Warriors arriving with a few rows still left empty, potentially allowing for new members joining the family. The steps and seats were stone while the center stage seemed to be made of marble. Thankfully the meetings never lasted long, most only addressing issues like ways to get more lien, recruitments, initiations, and the rare threat to the family. The threat of Grimm was nothing too difficult for them to handle, mostly Nevermores, King Fiddlers, and the occasional incursion of Beowolfs. Coney Island didn't have to worry much of the sea grimm, as most of its inhabitants were smart enough to settle far inland.

Jaune took a seat next to one of his sisters who looked just as bored as him, clearly she would rather be doing anything else, yet even she knew the consequences of not showing up. Her hair disheveled and wild, a clear sign of a recent spar. She glanced at Jaune once before resuming to stare blankly at the center stage, likely waiting for the rest of the Warriors to show up to see what the meeting was about.

"Not a fan of these things either huh?" He quipped nonchalantly, misery did enjoy company afterall. It would be a few more minutes before the meeting started, maybe some light conversation would help pass the time?

"Mhhm" Her eyes didn't leave the stage.

"You must've been to a million of these things already I take it?"

"Mhhm"

"Rather be doing something else?"

"Mhhm"

….

Okay, so his personal charm still needed work.

Luckily he wouldn't have to deal with the uncomfortable silence of his sister, as the Warchief and his lieutenants called for everyone to 'shut the fuck up'. Oh good, something else to focus on. _At least for now, _he thought eagerly glancing at his pocket that could carry his ticket to a path of fortune for him and his family.

The meeting started like any other, the Warchief waiting, not long, for everyone to cease any noise. The man in question was nothing if not imposing. Standing just a few inches taller than Jaune, the mocha skinned, gold eyed giant of a man cut an imposing aura. He was muscular and wasn't one to hide it, much like all the other Warriors. He was strict, one with the discipline that hinted at a military background, but not tyrannical, which was important in keeping the family in good spirits. He couldn't recall who the last Warchief was, Citron being the only one he grew up with, though they must've been as strong as Citron if leadership was to be passed down to him.

As the noise grinded to a halt within the span of five seconds the Warchief's eyes roamed over the amphitheater, mentally doing a headcount of those absent. Some of his unfortunate siblings would be stuck on rent collection. If he had his way, rent collection would be pocket change compared to what he'd bring in the future.

"Nice to see _most _of you decided to show up." He called out to _his _gang. A few chuckles rang through, not feeling the least bit sorry for their siblings who didn't show up. Sucks to suck.

"I'll get right to it, since I'm sure all of you got shit you plan on doing, whether it's getting wasted or doing the wasting."

"Both!" One of his brothers, a crocodile faunus, roared. His enthusiasm matched by the crowd, who whooped and hollered with him. A sentiment he could relate to, the buzz of alcohol always made a brawl feel much more like a dance you'd do at a club. Only you're also covered in splotches of blood, nursing your knuckles as well as a hangover.

"That's what I like to hear! But first, we gotta do business before we get to playin'" The gang's enthusiasm deflated at that, but understood its importance, info and lien being what kept the gang alive for as long as it's been.

"As you all know by now, rent and protection fees we collect is what keeps us afloat."

No secret there, it was what put food on the table and kept the lights on. It was the reason despite their power, they could only pull in so much money from the residences. Take too much, and the people they charged would either leave or die. It made no sense to slaughter the chicken because it couldn't produce enough eggs.

"We're reaching a point where we're barely breaking even in lien. Collection isn't cutting it anymore." The hesitation in his Warchief's voice unsettled him. He had a plan, but he knew Citron wouldn't like it. By the looks of it, he wasn't the only one unnerved, his family's mutters and whispers making the atmosphere suddenly much more suffocating.

"Hey, no, enough of that." Citron's voice cut through their uncertainties as all attention was brought back to him.

"I said we're barely breaking even, not broke. I have a solution, but I'm sure not all of you are going to like it." Oh? He couldn't imagine what Citron had in mind, they couldn't exactly pick up part time jobs on the island. What with the entire island hating them and all.

"We need to sell ourselves."

...Did he hear that correctly?

"WHAT?" The girl next to him screeched, the first intelligible word he'd heard come from her mouth.

Before a massive uproar was caused, Citron pushed on.

"I don't mean sexually or slavery!" Everyone relaxed at that, particularly the women, some actually joining the gang to get out of said profession. He visibly felt the girl next to him crumble in relief.

"I mean we need to start putting our fists to work pulling money in from _outside_ the island." He stressed the word.

"I'm talking about mercenary work here, don't care who you hurt, as long as your getting paid and giving a fraction of it to the gang." Outside the island? He was seriously allowing Warriors to operate outside the island? Such a notion was rejected in the past due to a pack mentality. They were strong individually, but together they were the closest things to gods on this rotting island. Citron's word's started a chain of mixed reactions. He saw many outright claim they wouldn't leave, others looked excited at the prospect of travelling, and many more who bore uncertainty on their faces.

Wait. He could work with this. He had already planned to leave with the promise of returning with a large fortune after becoming a Huntsmen. It wasn't exactly mercenary work, but what the Warchief didn't know wouldn't hurt him right?

"It's a little early to ask, but does anyone want to volunt-"

"I WILL!" He was sure he was the first to raise his hand.

...But he wasn't the only one. Three other voices besides his rang out, along with three other hands.

The Warchief's eyes blinked in astonishment for a second, he must've appeared the same. A quick scan of the amphitheater revealed the other three who were just as, if not more eager to leave as he was. His eyes met a Warrior around his age with ashen hair and an almost sadistic look in his eyes. He couldn't recall his name for the life of him though.

The other was a woman with light blue eyes and short cropped hair. He never learned her name, but he knew enough to steer clear from her when she was in a bad mood. Any mood that wasn't comatose really.

The last was actually the woman next to him, her intense ruby eyes bored straight into Citron, no sense of hesitation.

Once Citron found his voice, he proceeded.

"G-Great. I wasn't expecting some of you to be so eager." Neither was he to be honest. Were others that antsy to leave? Didn't matter much he supposed, once he was given the go ahead, he'd make his way to Vale, become a Huntsman, forge his way in if he had to, and make lien by the thousands.

"I wasn't really expecting that, but this works out great! I know many of you hate the idea of soldiering on alone…"

Oh. No. No. No! NO! NO! NO!

"So I'm deciding on sending you out in groups."

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

"So it's decided." His words left no room for negotiation, sealing his fate. Citron's eyes locked onto his.

"Jaune, I'm making you Warlord of your party. Your muscle is Mercury, Vernal, and Emerald."

...fuck everything.


End file.
